Mare
by anouk zucker
Summary: Somebody likes House a little too much and Wilson gets to almost rescue him. Story with a twist. House/Wilson happy ending; Warning: House/OMC, NON-Consensual sex implied! Mare: creature that brings nightmares. Thanks for reading!


**Mare**

Wilson loves to watch House.

Lounging in his office chair behind the desk, long legs on the desk atop blue case files, folded medical journals and little crumbled pieces of wrapping paper for lollipops and chocolate bars. His earphones are in place, the cover of John Zorn's 'Filmworks' held lightly in elegant hands. His head is tipped back to reveal the long neck, his collarbones and the dip in between. The first three buttons of his shirt are left open and the slow rising and falling of his chest moves the fabric slightly, promising more soft skin underneath. The bottom of the shirt is ridden up just a fraction to show a glimpse of flat stomach and the ever present pager fastened to the belt on his jeans. But he doesn't see Wilson standing there, studying him, because his eyes are closed, his brows ever so slightly knitted and raised, lips parted. He is the picture of laziness and debauchery.

Wilson smiles and helps himself to some coffee in the conference room. Just to linger a bit.

That's because he sees the man striding into House's office, closing the door behind him and holding onto the handle. Wilson notices nothing special about him, casual clothes, dark hair, only that he has a tall frame, even taller than House. The man gazes at House and calls out to him to get his attention.

House's eyes snap open and he lifts his head. The man starts to talk, but Wilson can't understand what he's saying; the walls aren't that thin. The stranger has a slight smirk on his face as he speaks, advancing further into the room. There is something unsettling in his whole demeanor that Wilson can't put a finger on.

A deep scowl has formed on House's face over the last few seconds; apparently he doesn't like what the stranger has to say. Then his eyes widen a fraction, his mouth drops open and

his wary gaze never leaves the stranger as he slowly takes off the earphones, lowers his legs and gets up to get his cane and move in the direction of the closed door between office and conference room. He never makes it because with three strides the stranger is between House and his escape route, stepping into his personal space, leaning close, their bodies almost touching.

Wilson is instantly alert, takes his hand out of his lab coat pocket and sets down House's red coffee cup, ready to make a move, to come to the rescue if necessary.

He watches helplessly as the guy's hands dart forward, one touches the front of House's pants, sliding down deep between his legs to feel there, the other snaking up beneath his shirt to touch skin, sliding up to rest over a nipple, groping boldly. House's body twitches, his thighs clench together reflexively, his hands come up and his whole form slightly curls in on itself, attempting to protect, his eyes wide in shock and disbelief, cheeks flushed.

Wilson dashes forward to yank open the door, as he watches the stranger push House back against the glass wall, hands still in place, and latch onto his open mouth. House's head bangs against the glass and Wilson can hear a muffled grunt through the half opened door. His heart is hammering wildly, matching his anger and turmoil of protective feelings. He grabs the stranger's bicep and shoulder and hauls him back with all his might, making him stumble and forcing him to let go of House, in a rustle of clothes and the wet sound of parting of lips.

"What the hell is this?!" he yells, panting, looking at the stranger, adrenalin pumping like acid through his body. House is wiping his mouth, picking up his cane and then inspecting the bump at the back of his head. Nothing serious, it seems. The fourth button on his shirt must have come off during the assault revealing the smooth skin and sparse hair of the soft dip between his chest muscles.

House actually looks down but doesn't bother to put his clothes back to rights", I think he said something about finding love and spreading happiness. Or was it 'finding what's in my pants' and then spreading unrequited love?" He is standing slightly to Wilson's left and half behind him, glancing at his attacker, wary but curious, always curious.

"Do I have to notify security, or do you want to leave here on your own?" Wilson felt obligated to do something to clear up this situation, to speak with House alone, have this potential thread removed.

"Don't bother, I know my way around here," smiles the guy and boldly adjusts himself in his pants, leering at House", You know what I'll think about tonight, right?"

"Oh, I know: you're going to split your brain in two, agonizing about how other people manage to be so well adjusted; and then you'll die in the proc-"

"I'm going to think about what I'll do to you next time."

"Wow! That's so sweet, but it's really a waste of time, see -"

"Sir, I think we can cut this short, Dr. House obviously doesn't want you here, I'll call sec-"

The man moves forward ignoring Wilson's attempt in settlement, slow and smooth like a predator, taking on an almost lurking stance, all muscles tensing, and then lowering his head to fix House with his stare from under lowered brows, exhaling slowly, pressing his lips together, his pupils dilated. Wilson retreats toward House, shielding him. The attacker's eyes roam over House's body, lingering on groin and chest, where his hands have been, as he speaks in a low, throaty voice thick with want.

"I'm gonna touch you everywhere, put my dick everywhere, and you're gonna allow me to, gonna crush you beneath me, fuck your body so hard, take you in every position imaginable until your pretty eyes close and your pretty, keening mouth begs me for mercy. And then I'm gonna do it again - and again, until you're sore and filled with my-"

"Stop!" Wilson shouts and glances at House.

House looks at his attacker in morbid fascination, his eyes narrowed, mouth agape, breathing shallow, for a moment he seems to sway, his eyelids fluttering. Wilson turns his head back to the guy.

"You are going to turn around and leave the building right now, and you are never coming near him again. Security will be waiting for you downstairs; you will be on security tape, so you'll be recognizable. Go! And if you try to follow us, there'll be further consequences."

His cool demeanor never wavering the guy starts to turn, growling", Gonna get you alone sometime! Can't wait to have you!"

"Get out!"

Finally the guy turns and walks out, but not without throwing House a kiss and grabbing himself again through his pants in front of the glass wall.

Wilson turns and strides to the desk to call security. He explains that there's been an incident in Dr. House's office and describes the troublemaker. All the while he looks back at House who leans on his cane and lays his hand over his forehead, slides it down over his eyes, then brushing the scruff on his chin, lifting worried eyes to Wilson. He notices the fluttering of eyelashes and he can see the erratic pulse throbbing at House's neck.

He completes the call and stands next to House who slowly gathers the lapels of the shirt and closes them over his chest. He swallows and his eyes flick up to meet Wilson's briefly, then in the direction of the door. His hands are trembling, it's subtle, but it's there.

"Are you OK?"

"I'm fine."

Wilson lets it slide for the moment. He waits. House shifts his weight and exhales a short laugh", What a complete, sick bastard, huh?"

"House. Do you – do you know this guy? Ex-patient? Relative? Did you piss him off, somehow?"

"No! And why would someone have the hots for me when all I did was insult him or his family – which by the way I didn't! Beat me, trip me, shoot me, yeah, it has happened. But this is – I don't know what this is. A joke? Someone's screwing with me – ." House's pager interrupts. He unhooks it and checks.

"Gotta go. Clinic. Consult. – And I do not know this jackass! This is so you, trying to make this my fault –"

"I am not blaming – House, this guy just threatened to – to violate you, I'm trying to understand where this came from."

House picks up his jacket from the back of the chair, slips into it and puts a pen and a pen light in the inside pocket while speaking in a mock conspiring tone", Yeah, me too. And as I'm not a sixteen year old swimsuit model, it's really a tough one!" House looks down his body and notices the missing button. His shoulders sag", I look like …Cuddy, this just too much man cleavage. Ah, do you happen to have a spare shirt that's not ironed stiff? You get it back when we get home."

"House, this is serious, at least wait until security gets back to us." House pauses, then sighs, buttons his jacket, takes his cane and starts walking toward the door.

"At least I'll always have _this_", he briefly lifts his cane", in case someone gets fresh again."

"I'm going to wait here for security to confirm. Then I'll find you in the clinic." Wilson says sternly, sitting down in House's desk chair. House turns to him with one hand on the handle. He pulls down the corners of his mouth, frowns slightly and nods once. "Thanks." Then he yanks open the door and Wilson watches him limp down the hallway towards the elevators in his strangely firm, graceful, rhythmical way, a determined frown on his face, eyes hard.

Wilson catches himself thinking that House makes it look so appealing, the limp; so strong and perfect, but there is also this vulnerability to it, a soft elegance, something precious, something breakable.

His breath catches and he feels like someone is pouring ice water down his throat. "House", he whispers breathlessly, the dreading feeling gripping his heart, his stomach. He lurches forward and bursts into the hallway, running to the elevators. No House. Wilson fishes out his cell phone and presses speed dial.

He hears the compressed, nasal sound of a cell phone playing "Dancing Queen" coming from House's office, echoing in the hallway.

He snaps the phone shut, another gush of adrenalin pouring into his system. Stairs or elevator. Call security from the office phone, call Cuddy? He impatiently stabs the elevator button. Who paged House anyway, from the clinic – he had sent the team home after solving their latest case around noon.

He strides into the elevator, presses the down button and dials Cuddy's number. "Come on, come on, "he mutters, but the call goes to voice mail. When the doors open at ground level, he sprints out, quickly searching the lobby with his eyes. He burst through the clinic doors and stops at the desk.

"Dr. House got called down here, where is he?"

The nurse quickly takes in his breathless state with wary eyes and replies: "He's in exam room two with Dr. – uh – Dr. Webber."

"With a patient?" Wilson quickly glances into Cuddy's empty office.

"Uh, I don't know, I guess so. I just started shift and saw Dr. House pass through here."

"I don't recall anyone by that name working here. - I already spoke with security, there's been an incident, please call them here, tell them my name." The nurse has picked up the receiver and dials, nodding. Wilson rounds the desk and runs towards exam room two. The blinds are closed, so is the door. His hand trembles when he grips the door handle. Where is security? What if this is all a misunderstanding? He listens. It's quiet. He takes a deep breath, breeches himself and opens the door firmly, stepping inside.

What he sees steals his breath and roots him to the spot, his insides churning and twisting.

This guy is leaning over a motionless House lying on the exam table, an empty syringe on the floor next to them. The guy's head snaps up, his mouth making a wet smacking noise as it parts from House's. House's lips shine wetly, his face slack, eyes closed. The guy doesn't try to cover his groin, just continues stroking himself, House's limp hand clasped in his, both wrapped around him. He has torn House's shirt and jacket down over his shoulders, and his jeans and underwear over his hips, the skin on House's chest, belly, thighs and genitals is glistening with saliva. The guy grins at him, proceeding to knead House's chest with his other hand, leaning down again, inhaling House's scent, nudging House's jaw with his nose, whispering against the skin on his neck", Hey, lover, your friend is here, think he wants to join us?" He laughs at his own cruel joke, a low gurgling. He looks at Wilson while sliding his hand down over House's smooth skin, hissing as he picks up speed with their joined hands. His other hand disappears between House's thighs, moves rhythmically in a hidden in and out motion. "He's ready. Wanna be in my place now? Don't be jealous, I think he doesn't like me anyway." Suddenly House twitches and moans pitifully. "Shh, is it time to wake up, yet?" The guy pants heavily, speeding up his strokes, lengthening them and comes shuddering on House's belly and groin.

Wilson feels it like a kick to the stomach, the lead-heavy feeling in his body abruptly vanishing, replaced by a searing hot flame inside, bursting through the thick haze of his paralyzed mind. Before he knows it, he picks up House's cane and dashes forward in a flash, raising it and bringing it down over the guys head, shoulders and his face, wanting to hurt and to break. He is breathing heavily, letting the cane clatter to the ground, pushing the unconscious man to the floor to get to House. He looks into House's face and down his ravished body. He feels his pulse. It's strong and steady. He retrieves a blanket and pulls it over House to cover him. Then he lays his hand on House's shoulder, leans down and says his name. House's eyes snap open, stare at him, wide, unblinking; and he says -

"This is your fault."

That's when his world tilts and spins like crazy, it's suddenly pitch black, then blindingly bright, then dark again. He shouts as he hits the floor, his body wrapped tightly in something, he can barely move, his shoulder and hip hurting from the impact, he is sweating profusely. He grunts and tries to get his bearings. He opens his eyes. There's dim light coming from tall windows, he's lying on the floor between two beds – it hits him. He's in the hotel, at the conference, House is sleeping in the bed next to - . He makes a pathetic little sound in his throat and whips his head around to his left looking up. Looking right into blue eyes. Wilson freezes, the dream still fresh in his memory, what a weird dream, it felt so real. How can a brain come up with this? Shake up his feelings like this?

"'m sorry I woke you, mus'ev dreamed."

"Really? And what kind of dream was that?" Wilson looks back at House, the sarcastic tone not lost on him, despite his still bleary state.

That's when he notices that House doesn't have covers, lying on his side, leaning on an elbow, his t-shirt and pajama bottoms a little rumpled, his bare feet hanging over the edge of the bed. Wilson looks down at the covers he's still tangled in, then snaps his head up to look at House.

"Did I – what did I do? Did I just steal your covers? Did I sleep on the floor?"

House stares at him for a moment with narrowed eyes, then he inhales and replies "No. You didn't 'steal my covers', not successfully. But not for lack of trying." He puts air quotes around the important part of the sentence and waits a moment to allow Wilson's brain to catch up. "I had to kick you out, the covers were collateral damage."

Wilson narrows his eyes, wheels turning in his brain, then realizing what House was literally saying.

"What?!" He looks back up at House who has sat up.

"What, did I touch you? Did I – "

House snorts."Oh, relax!" He gets up and limps to get water from the mini bar."It was a little creepy, now it's funny. We don't tell anyone, I can mock you for it for the rest of your life. But you should work on your cover-stealing skills – they are pathetic."

"Well, they seem to have worked, I got your covers." Wilson says, exhaling noisily, looking impishly at House, his eyebrows lifted. House turns slowly, his eyes on the ceiling, corner of his mouth twitching, then fixing his gaze on Wilson, unwavering, a vaguely amused glint in it.

Wilson leans back on his elbows briefly looking down on House's covers, then staring back into House's eyes, completely open, letting House see.

House tips back his head a fraction, a tiny smirk forming, barely there.

"Yes."

Wilson's stomach flips, but he gets up anyway, slowly, untangling himself, the covers slipping to the floor, moving towards House, their eyes never leaving the other's. House's gaze is calm, curious, still amused and inviting, pulling. Then Wilson is standing in front of House, mere inches between them. They've been close before, but this is different. Wilson hears himself breathing, deep and steady. House blinks, but it's more like a barely there wink. Wilson lifts his hand slowly. He doesn't want to break the pace, doesn't want to break the spell. It feels like magic, but it's so real at the same time as he touches House's face, his cheek. Stubbly, but so smooth under his eyes. House's eyelids flutter and he closes his eyes briefly. Wilson feels a sharp stab in his chest as he lets his eyes move over House's features. The long lashes, fanning out on his cheeks, the straight nose with the small dimple, lips, oh his lips. They seem thin, but they aren't, House's lower lip is fuller and Wilson softly runs his thump over both. Tracing their shape, feeling their smoothness. House opens his eyes again as Wilson's hand slides down to his neck, his thump stroking just under House's chin.

This is it, this is the moment. Wilson leans forward, tilting his head, sees House's eyes slide shut, feels his breath on his mouth. He puts his hand on the back of House's head and touches his lips to House's. They both inhale sharply and Wilson touches his tongue to House's lips. House opens them and makes a little involuntary sound on the exhale. Wilson can feel how excited he is. He's overwhelmed, just like Wilson. So Wilson plunges forward, dipping his tongue in House's mouth, tasting him, going deeper, retreating, going deep again, in waves. House lets himself be kissed, opens his mouth wide, another small moan escaping, genuine, breathy, sexy. Wilson's head spins with the intensity of his feelings, the stabs in his chest, in his stomach, the throbbing in his groin increasing. He wants House so much.

He cradles House's head in both his hands and kisses him with new fervor. House is yielding under his lips, moving with him. He feels House's hands come up to lay them on his hips and slide them around his waist to deepen their embrace. Their stomachs slide together, then their groins. Wilson groans into the kiss, House's breath hisses through his nose. They break the kiss, their lips smacking, breathing harshly, but dipping in again and again for soft, little kisses, full of longing, lips touching, caressing.

Wilson slides his hands down to House's forearms and guides him backwards to their beds. They look at each other. House tilts his head slightly, narrowing his eyes, smirking with gorgeous, kiss-swollen lips.

"Going to steal my covers properly now?"

"Yes."

END

A/N: I had to do it again! I think I have a muse. And again I had to put poor Wilson into dreamland, but at least now, after the sexy nightmare has worn off, Wilson gets his House for real and yoouu get them both. Next time I'll write them all the way, literally, exclusively and in a bed or on any other surface.


End file.
